Gundam AGE Ares Gate
by Amion the O
Summary: Forty two years pass since the people of the Red Planet began a conflict for their survival, now a greater calamity ushers a new, bloody period in the fighting, and the world shudders as the people of Vagan reveal a means to span light-years to link Earth and Mars. Asemu Asuno, born into this chaos, must find his way in the war of the worlds. The Gate of life or death opens.
1. 1 Prologue After the Fall I: Violet Flag

**Author's Note: **So begins the long journey of Ares Gate. Welcome reader, if you have not read the book preceding this one, Savior's Destination, I strongly urge you to do so before jumping into Ares Gate to avoid confusion. And now, a brief glimpse into the aftermath of the day Angels Fell...

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**Prologue After the Fall I: Violet Flag**

May 13th AG142—Earth Sphere, Arctic Ocean, ten days after Angels Fell

Grey clouds reflected off a grey sea, choppy with agitated waves nipping at each other like puppies fighting to push the others down as they scrambled for a treat their owner was tangling just out of reach. Tidal currents waltzed a confused dance, great rolling mountains of water came and went, and even rainbows appeared with the sound of a mighty wailing like a shriek of agony from one of Poseidon's daughters.

Over these colorful arches the source of the wailing churned the water to white froth like egg whites blended to stiff peaks, the maelstrom a big, black fetid smelling hole like a bullet wound in the ocean, a foul column of vapor always rising, breaking the light at times to form the deceptively pretty archways. The stench of ground Sealife and other grime at the bottom of the watery drain reeked horribly.

Sealife frantically fought their instinctual urges, two parts desire to scatter for peaceful distance, and one part urged to huddle in large pods of varying species, despite the mutual hostilities and natural inclination for privacy for most of the larger animals, like the sharks. Many found themselves swallowed by the whirlpools—which could range from several dozen feet in diameter to several hundred. And these nothing in comparison to the mid Atlantic's New Eye, as humans in space were calling it, a gigantic whirlpool of whirlpools nearly three kilometers across, a terrific new phenomenon brought about by hundreds of megatons of metal hurtling through the atmosphere to strike all across the globe near-simultaneously, and the terrific earthquakes produced by the shocking impact.

Above the choppy surf, wind howled and pushed clouds confusedly in a somber dance, the cold, biting chill unusually frosty for May even for southern Greenland. Unusually chilly didn't normally mean much for a region that experienced a yearly average of ten degrees Celsius, fifty degrees Fahrenheit. However in June or even sometimes May, the curvature of the Earth changed enough to let a nice increase to toasty hot summer numbers of 20 Celsius or so.

The thin particles of dust that sometimes rained down, the stray pieces of manmade metals and even stench brought by the wind of molten slag or roasted glass heralded a cloudless and cold summer of barely eight degrees C, and that assuming the weather calmed down and blew in no cold fronts.

It was also going to be a hungry one for many a fisherman in Greenland, for the upset Atlantic had tossed her inhabitants into the depths—or dragged them with a banshee cry of its whirling drains—scattered them, or simply carried them off far, far away on Neptunian continents of water during the Fall.

And the people of Iceland knew well they had born up with the least of it, those who still lived after all, since many a coastal city was a wreckage of twisted docks and boats and corpses— some of the vessels lay capsized atop cliffs or rock faces when the smaller tsunamis rolled the tide in with a roar of a mighty host only nature can supply when truly upset.

Against the distant whine of dying maelstroms, erratic winds fighting the Coriolis Effect and other, fresh, factors came the distant echoes of like something in between a deafening clap of the hands right beside the earlobes, and the sound of a kitchen's worth of pots smashing together as they bang against the floor, only ending with a distinct sound barrier-breaking roar-clap that echoed all its own to frequencies beyond the human ear to sense, something striking so fast that the sound did not catch up near enough in time. And the rumblings too.

Oh the rumblings! No one could manage to ignore the faint vibrations that—while steadily decreasing every time—jittered the air, and shook pebbles to dancing like oil on a burner, with a similar sound to boot.

The two space colonies, Angel and Cherubim, had fallen no less than ten days ago, yet even now the faint echoes reverberated in the air, distant aftershocks rumbled in the unforgetful earth and their resultant energy danced in the frenetic sea; already tainted with the dead and dying from tiny needle-like harpoons of shrapnel and radiation released from the colonies upon impact, though the ocean would soon disperse it too harmless levels.

Billowing dust clouds thrown up into the atmosphere by the Angels had also taken its toll, along with the weather now thoroughly screwed, though of course not forever—this was going to be a cold and hungry summer for everyone, and not least of all those who suffered the terrors in Africa, which even now was suffering from an even greater calamity, as the shifting of the tectonic plates was causing geothermal upheaval, with Mount Kilimanjaro threatening to erupt with violence so deadly it would rival Krakatoa, and possibly worse subsequent geological chaos, as Kilimanjaro rested in a precarious position on the landmass. Already many suspected the continent to be torn in at least two new pieces, and regardless if this was possible, those there who could stare down into the giant crevasses made by Colony Cherubim's impact would certainly believe it!

Africa was the breadbasket of the world, and now, with Global Cooling and a brief Ice Age in the air, the people left alive to deal with the disaster questioned if their dead loved ones might have been the lucky group. For their death came so fast few realized it, save for those ossified by the superheated dust clouds, which acted like pyroclastic flows, vaporizing everything and every_one _in their path, a brief, but potentially agonizing two second of excruciating heat. There were also those who died from the shockwaves, the internal organs of victims scrambled and pulped, hopefully a quick death but not always if the injuries weren't hideous enough.

Public outrage up in space, in the colonies that _hadn't _stricken Mother Earth like the Apocalypse, fumed over the lack of progress for the Earth Federation Military to bring the responsible _monsters _to justice for their crimes. The invaders from Mars, the Vagan—who once nearly swayed a good third of the population to uncertainty and proclaimed goodwill and liberation for all—had done this terrible thing!

No one would forgive them, or their terrifying—and infamous, now moreso than ever—princess, Pandora Eve, who only now did people truly remember for who she was, the former dictator of the Earth Sphere a hundred and fifty years ago or more, when Earth was ruled by the Axis Federation, rather than the current, and definitely more benevolent government! She was none other than _that _woman, that creation of mad science in pursuit of a superior lifeform with superhuman power, Issishar Ezelcant! The very daughter of Fezarl Ezelcant, Supreme Overlord, Leader of the Martian people, who dared call themselves oppressed and mistreated when they caused some calamity as this!

And they had done worse things, and only this recent horror—no—nightmare could make the people of the Earth Sphere forget the Plague Trap, where as of this day, ninety million—_ninety million _people, innocent people, perished to biological warfare of horrific description and efficiency. Yet even if something as mild as a death camp could compare to the Plague Trap, where Federation soldiers had been forced to quarantine the infected and uninfected alike while they watched them die, nothing quite compared to what happened when two colonies dropped upon the Earth together and unleashed enough energy to awaken the forces of nature in all their unstoppable, self-destructive fury.

It was one thing to toil and die knowing it was your death that was your purpose for being there in some trap or hellish prison—it was a totally different thing to find oneself going to your death slowly knowing that the very planet itself and maybe even humanity itself as well might soon follow! The sheer scale of it sucked all feeling from the people left alive, leaving them numb inside, like they had sat too long, an almost frost-bitten feeling from the inside out, a deadness. The biting nip of the cooling winterwinds barely gave anyone a chill, save the old and infirm, who would not live to see many more of these dark days, and knew it well in their trembling bones.

Cities lay in ruins, those near the epicenters of the impacts, lesser or otherwise had been either wiped out of existence entirely, set ablaze and catastrophically shell-shocked by the sonic footprint of the colony pieces as they passed overhead—particularly Angel, which had descended in a freakish way, generating a scything wind with its disk-like rotation that left destruction and confused air current patterns in its wake across the Indian Ocean, Africa, Spain, and finally the Isle of London, Britain's last remnants, which were now no more but a grey, debris clouded blotchy puddle in the ocean, like a grey splotch of paint in a bucket of dark blue. The cities that hadn't been erased to separated particles were unrecognizable as the earthquakes devastated every corner of the globe and indeed the impact had possibly upset the rotation of the Earth, though not permanently. What cities hadn't fallen like a house of cards—or in this case cards made of concrete and reinforced steel—still had most fragile objects like glass and even some plastics shattered or reduced to fine sand in the wake of the sonic booms that even now were still echoing their ghostly call throughout the world. It was safe to say not a single functioning computer remained for the general public! And anything buried underground was caved in for sure and impossible to reach, assuming bunkers and the like were even still there and not totally crushed.

With very little electricity and power plants either undergoing a meltdown or probably safely in emergency shutdown—reactor leaks were not uncommon given the nature of the catastrophe, but who cared about radiation poisoning at this point anyway, or electricity? Those who saw the waves that curtained the sky and changed the landscape even far inland only laughed in reply to such worries.

And fires raging uncontrollably but with no way to put it out, survivors milled about in their numbness, hunger from the children and their screams to fill their bellies drawing some caring loved ones out partially, and the stench of the crushed dead and feasting of vultures, ravens and crows mixed with the pleading moans and screams of the wounded finally brought reality back in a swift rush like a punch to the gut. Or more accurately, it felt to the survivors like they had been trapped in a slow motion scene in an action film, forced to move about in a blur as they watched the real world revolve with merciful slowness, only to end and hurl them breathless to normal time again.

Now that the reality was returning this way, and no way to feed the hungry, treat the injured, or fix the damage, the refugees lost in their own homes could only scream at the sky and ask, why?

It was the same question—"Why?"—that Fezarl Ezelcant asked himself, as Issishar Ezelcant confronted him, and one even more ironically still, that most of Vagan's well-meaning soldiers and people asked each other. Their own commander, Supreme Commander Medel Zant Gramis, successor to the late An Grams, asked himself that question every moment he was left to himself in his dark, clammy cabin. Worst of it all was, it had been him who orchestrated the pandemonium. Issishar Ezelcant styled herself Pandora Even to strike fear in the hearts of the Earth's people, and while she had been the one to give the order for a Colony Drop, it had been Zant who carried out the orders to their finish despite his ability to do otherwise.

Medel Zant Gramis had been given Pandora's Box knowing it went against everything he wanted save for his revenge, and he opened it regardless. Here were his consequences, here was a world broken to pieces, and he was meant to offer this to his dying wife Martha, and explain that it was his own selfish desire for revenge that made it this way! And all the soldiers still praised his name, because in a moment of self-preservation and humiliation he claimed it had been the Federation who ruined his plans to perform a safer Colony Drop, where Colony Cherubim would descend slowly with the help of Vagan warships attached to its hull. He could have stopped all of this, but ordered otherwise.

"Why?"

However, despite the losses the people of the Earth suffered, and the Vagans themselves as they looked upon the world they had so thoroughly damaged, some began to question the events that had transpired mere hours after the Colony Drop.

* * *

Few on Earth turned their heads to the sky, there was mostly cloud there now and sometimes strange aurora lights normally not visible in places so far south or north, near the equator. If they could see the orange globe that was the Moon now, molten and casting its light to paint the tops of the clouds sunset orange, they would have most likely despaired completely.

The Vagans themselves were horrified by the inexplicable change in Earth's satellite, for it had been their only bastion, the invincible haven to which they could always retreat. Now its hostile surface spewed beads of bright, twinkling lava in its wake and slightly away from the direction of the planet in its new orbit and role as the shepherd moon for Earth's forming ring.

The new orbit was a ten-day event, a slow decline as it lost more of its mass, although what it was losing was currently only a fraction of its mass, the initial eruptions on its dark side had been just enough to cause a shift in its usual orbit, and now it was behind its growing ring. The difference was mild, although the oceans were so upset that no one would notice the slightly higher tides.

Now the ocean tides transmit energy to the Moon, pushing it away further and further from the Earth, a closer Moon imparts more energy and thus therefore should be eventually pushed backward as it had been since its creation along with its parent. However, with less mass, the effect of its gravitational pull weakens, and if it lost too much to the ring, it would eventually suffer from remaining in its closer, shorter orbit. The tides after a certain point would not hold as much water, and thus would not have the strength proportionate enough to repulse the increasingly clingy satellite.

But this was a minor concern, the ring was small now, not really a ring as much as a tiny trail of moonrock that was only just now becoming visible to those Earthside able to look. No, it was what fell from the Moon at the beginning of the volcanic climax, a blue, twinkling dot from the northern hemisphere that flew to Earth's North Pole. To those who watched, it looked like the Moon had shed a bright, blue tear and flung it at Earth during their mutual time of grief as if in a way trying to comfort the shuddering planet.

It was a terraformer, the terraformer responsible for manipulating the one set on Mars' own surface, and the cause of all the troubles on Mars with radiation and magnetic storms. This Moon's Tear, as many people down on Earth had called it, was now embedded on Earth, and had been the sole cause of the Moon's violent volcanic upheaval. What would it do now, the Vagans wondered, on Earth? Yet nothing happened, and no wild irradiation of the planet had been detected, the terraformer was offline, probably destroyed; buried deep within the crust of the Earth, if it wasn't a smashed pile of shrapnel already. Let it rust there, the demonic thing, many said, and so they did.

The Auroras continued to shine, casting pale violet over the whole Earth, a strange phenomenon caused by the fallen colonies, the Vagans decided, and dismissed them. Unbeknownst to all, the terraformer continued to thrive, already hard at work to stave off the ecological chaos Issishar Ezelcant's Colony Drop had almost managed to create. The world would cool yes, and people would continue to suffer in the aftermath of the Angels' Fall, but the brighter days of Earth were still ahead of it as the Moon's Tear did as it was created to do; turn a hostile world into a paradise for humanity.

The one who programmed the terraformer and launched it from the Moon was unknown, but whoever he or she was, their praises would soon be sung on both the blue world and the red.

Mars Sphere—Second Moon, Overlord's Palace, ten days after the destruction of the Mars terraformer

The crowds gathered in a massive host, spreading out as far as the eye could see, shouting and cheering, waving banners high over their heads.

A speaker in dark green and brown robes stepped toward the balustrade, spreading his hands. "Fellow Vagans, I am Amadis Largo, you would know me as an attendant priest of the old Fire Temple. Today, in light of the recent tragedies that have stained our troubled world even redder with blood, is a time for celebration! The evil storms that covered Mars have rolled away, never to return, the terraformer is destroyed!"

The very air trembled before the mighty shouts of cheer and freedom, the people rejoicing in their liberation of the terror that had always hung over them, quite literally, from the planet that dominated the pale sky of Second Moon. Amadis raised his hands, "Today, Lord Ezelcant has asked me to usher in a new era for the people of Mars. The sins committed against the people of Earth and their cruel retaliations, have left deep wounds, as have our own actions. Our battle will be a long one, but if we band together, we can finally see this war ended!"

A figure stepped slowly out of the palace's double doors, dressed in a long, purple dress, a red robe over one shoulder, partially covering two bare, pale arms.

"We need, in this difficult time, to stay on the right path. We need those who are willing to put their own needs last. The Overlord gives this new order his blessing, and hopes that it shall not stray from the path he intended," he moved to the side so the figure could step to the center of the balustrade and pull off the pale violet veil shrouding their face.

"People of Second Moon, greet your new caretaker—your new Priestess-_Yurin L'Ciel!" _She spread her arms wide, encompassing the multitudes in a warm show of an embrace.

"People of Second Moon, of Vagan, once I asked a man this question, 'Living is hard, isn't it?' That holds true for us in the uncertain future, but together we can _stand _again and again until we are free and justice has won! Please rise up people of Vagan and don't lose hope, don't look back, look forward, to a bright and safe tomorrow!"

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**Author's Note: **This is only a segment of the prologue, and an ongoing prologue arc to set up the world and establish the place many characters will take. Please look forward to it and review. I look forward to everyone's comments!


	2. 1 Prologue After the Fall II: Ruins

**Prologue After the Fall II: Ruins**

May 27th, AG142—Earth Sphere, Vagan _Do Manza _en route to the Moon

Fon Nox stood straight as he could, trying to keep the weight of recent events from crushing his shoulders into permanent fixtures on the bridge command booth's floor. His morose, slightly curved nose and sagging lips reminded many of his subordinates of pictures they had once seen of greyhounds, sad and droopy skinned. His pessimistic grey eyes scanned the wide expanse of the world beyond, a black sea mixed with the blotches of asteroids, many of them hardened ejecta hurled from the Moon.{stealth}

He took in a breath as his ship turned at his command toward the satellite, moving along the inner rim of the newly formed ring of rock encircling Earth, the sun aglow, reflecting light off the pieces. The miniature planetoid itself however, cast a forbidding orange glare in the likeness of a sickly star, and in turn painted the ring a similar ochre as it passed by on its steady circuit around the ring.

The Vagan ship was a new class of vessel, a _Do Manza _attack ship, basically a Vagan version of a glorified gunboat, with forward facing weapons along its heavily armored front face, directly in between the command decks, of which there were three. The excuse being that if one were destroyed, the others could continue acting as emergency bridges. If only Fon had two auxiliary bodies to give him the same assurance.

Fon Nox took charge of this particular vessel during the late Princess Issishar Ezelcant's expedition to the Arctic Circle, and much preferred cruising the stingray shaped _Do Manza _through the watery depths than this even colder, more unforgiving space, with the stormcloud-ridden Earth on one side, and an actively volcanic moon on the other.

The mere thought of the Princess made Fon Nox shudder, breaking his unhappy bloodhound face with the obvious signs of sickness that came before vomiting. It brought no solace, thinking of that horrible woman and her fate; dying on her own capital ship to cardiac arrest and multiple hemorrhages that ultimately led to stroke. There was even rumor that she suffered a violent seizure so forceful that her contortions broke her own spine and twisted several limbs into grizzly angles.

He didn't mourn that woman, he never bought into her grandiloquent speeches about unfulfilled promises and even more unfulfilling revenge against people Fon Nox held no real animosity for. The last straw came during the Coronation Speech, when she literally broadcasted her voice through some unknown transmission system for all to hear. That scared almost everyone, hearing a voice from nowhere booming like thunder to the tune of a ringing symphony of bells. It made him question if her death had been something other than severe health problems as was the official report.

Fon Nox however, always the unlucky one, ended up as a close subordinate of one of Issishar Ezelcant's four primary "guards" during his mission to the Arctic and back. As such he didn't partake in the dreadful Colony Drop operation led by the new Supreme Commander, Medel Zant Gramis. Fon half suspected Zant got the idea to nearly destroy Earth's fragile ecosystem from Issishar herself, but regardless that still meant Zant went ahead with the plan. Most rumors held true that Zant planned to use the battleships riding one of the colony's outer walls to slow Cherubim's descent. When the time came the orders were never given and the ships detached to let the gigantic cylinder plummet.

Even if Zant was really a ruthless sociopath, Fon Nox would have happily served under him. Zant was down on Earth in his cleverly hidden mobile base, and that meant the remaining space forces had no official leader with the death of the Princess. Adamantine, the only real stronghold Vagan held, was on the Moon when it erupted shortly after the Colony Drop. An Grams, the Supreme Commander Emeritus was presumably lost with the fortress colony as well. Not to mention all the tiny mining and mobile suit production plants scattered across the Lunar surface!

And that was why Fon Nox, the man who never wanted to hurt anybody, was on this particular _Do Manza, _under the direct control of Issishar's true second in command, Executor Clay Squall. Now there was a sociopath! And if that was not enough, Executor Squall had a near fanatic view of Issishar, and her official heir apparent to all her military and territorial power.

_How could anyone love that little lunatic? _Fon Nox hated the boy, Decil Galette, or should he say, Lord Decil Galette, Grand Vizier of all conquered territories of the Earth Sphere.

Now technically, the ruler of Vagan, Overlord Fezarl Ezelcant, had disbanded the authority Issishar had granted herself during his absence, but with no one to organize the fleet remnants at Earth's space front, and Medel Zant unable to crawl out of his hidyhole on Earth, what choice was there but to follow the former Princess' chief lieutenants?

There wasn't one for now, and that allowed Squall to easily muster the Vagan space forces under his banner. Nox might have not complained much were it not for the boy. Decil was too young to rule, yet Squall seemed to believe Vagan's military was a monarchy!

_We are paying for our lack of proper military structure. Those with titles and claims on power are filling in the gaps in the ranks, while proper soldiers sit with their hands tied. It worked with such a rag-tag bunch as us for years. There wasn't even proper fighting while good old An Grams held the olive branch out to Earth for peace-sake. Now…_

Now they needed a real leader, and real military order to survive. The coming fighting was going to make up for all the wasted efforts at peacefully drawing up negotiations with Federation officials who only knew how to draw lines in the sand!

"Captain Nox, how goes the approach," asked a calm, young voice from the entryway.

"Better than I expected, encounters with debris and rogue space mines are at a minimal," Fon Nox turned to see Clay Squall, now styling himself Regent over Lord Decil, enter the bridge with the doors just sliding shut, wearing his standard close-fitting black pilot's jumpsuit, minus the helmet. Sometimes Fon thought Clay lived in the thing. "We have increased our speed to flank, and are preparing to reach maximum."

"Do we have magnified visuals of the crater site?" Squall asked, raising his voice to inquire of the bridge crew technicians, all of whom worked in stations below the commander's, in tiered booths normally, but half of them wore absent and strewn through all of the ship's bridges. Holographic displays and receivers allowed for easy communication between them without the uncomfortable need to speak to empty air. "Not at present, Lord Regent," a young man replied, his holographic image swaying slightly as he half stood and bowed.

Squall waved a hand dismissively, "At ease. Don't bother unless you're in person. _Why _can't we? Has the Lunar geography changed that much in two weeks?"

"Not just that Sir, but the electromagnetic interference from the flash-terraforming of the planet has not abated as expected. We are also experiencing extreme difficulty in locating even an approximate landmark to base our search."

"Tycho Crater is in the southern hemisphere, it can't be that hard to find," Clay said with a snort. He turned to Nox, "have them search for possible Federation emplacements. The last thing we want is for them to get a foothold in the ring."

"Skim by on your approach to the Moon," a child's voice said with knowing, almost smug inflection, as if it were the obvious solution.

Fon felt his teeth grind almost on instinct upon hearing that blasted voice. He watched as Lord Decil Galette stepped into the room, the almost comical black cape fluttering behind him and tiny red jerkin and black belt and matching black pants giving him the appearance of a child cosplaying as his favorite superhero.

"What do you mean, Lord?" Squall bowed respectfully before straightening up again.

"Follow the ring until we reach the Moon," Decil repeated, this time with a little less snoodyness, "We can resonate our X-Rounder senses and check for any potential survivors from either side. The interference is blocking our troops from gathering right?"

"I object, moving along the ring could seriously jeopardize us if we run into enemy fortifications," Squall reminded. "Please reconsider, Lord Galette."

"On the other hand," Fon Nox said, admitting to the sense of Decil's command, "we would have the chance to throw a few IPs into the ring to set up some bases of our own. And if by any chance we have allies in hiding, that debris belt is as good a place as any for them to hold out against attack."

"It's uncharted territory, and more stable than just about anywhere else right now," he added as he remembered the chaotic state of the planet and the very chaotic looking Moon, with its dark surface and many orange spiderwebbing of lava flows dotting its surface, most emptying into vast oceans of liquid rock.

"Then it's decided," Decil said, turning to eye Clay with his amber eyes in a manner Nox found supremely unnerving. If they were red, he would have sworn they were Issishar's own baleful eyes, filled with malice enough for ten homicidal killers and more besides.

"If this decision is supported by Captain Nox, I see no reason to continue objecting," Clay said with a heavy sigh, folding his arms.

"Hihi," Decil giggled, the child seemed to get a real kick out of getting his way, as if he expected it to and just enjoyed others coming to see that. What would he do when he _didn't _get it, Fon wondered. Decil turned his gaze on him next, and that shut up his thoughts quick. Issishar could tell what you were thinking, the rumors said. And after one of Fon's close friends—the captain aboard her flagship—had ended up with his brains crawling out of his ears, Fon was willing to believe in the rumors. It was safer that way.

The ship ran smooth along the rim of the infant ring, the smooth strands and pebbles of hardened lava smooth like they were pictures taken from an old black and white camera of a roiling river and gigantic water droplets, with not so much as a jagged edge among all of them. Many were connected or stuck together through multitudes of tiny strands, the lava and all essentially massed together, like sugar wire. Most of the rock contained the unique, alchemized metal element, Luna Titanium, otherwise known as Gundarium alloy, the incredibly durable substance created by the terraformer once buried in the heart of the Moon, before mysterious forces after the Colony Drop managed to send it hurtling up from the Lunar depths and down to Earth's polar regions.

Thoughts of the terraformer sent Nox glancing back at a small screen depicting Earth's troubled atmosphere, wondering just what future disasters the planet-shaper had in store for Earth.

In the meantime, Decil and Clay had both interlaced hands and closed their eyes in some kind of meditating trance. The hologram displays about Fon flickered here and there when Decil would yawn or Squall would twitch suddenly. Once both seemed to be communicating in half finished whispers, and the control boards had almost completely gone into disarray.

Nox heard that X-Rounders could effect electromagnetic fields in various ways, but seeing the real thing happening on your command bridge was simply too much! Fon Nox inwardly prayed the ship wouldn't suffer a complete electrical failure and spell a terrible accident, like a collision with one of those ring asteroids.

To keep his mind off the bizarre meditating, Fon directed the ship to deployed its IPs—Installation Proctors—automatons that looked roughly like big domes with six bulky, squarish legs with powerful pincers meant for punching into the rock like picks. They had a central beam drill unit and housed dozens of interchangeable equipment and gear for boring, tunneling, and excavating different terrain. They would bore into the rock if possible, hollow out tiny hiding places for future outposts, and begin broadcasting data on their excavations. If they were suitable and matched their processors' checklist for suitable bases, they would begin construction, or abandon the work if human supervisors receiving the data decided against it.

"It's awfully bubbly," Decil commented, pointing at the approaching Moon. The Moon steadily filled their screen, taking everyone's breath away for a moment as they took in the enormous size of the thing. Even now, the sight of a celestial body inspired awe and reverence in people.

And how much more so this moon, with its dark surface highlighted by vast swaths of molten ocean, roughly taking up a third if not even over half the surface in glowing depiction of an apocalypse. The remaining landmass often broken by the channels of lava flows flickered here and there with orange-red puffs of light, where new volcanoes burst forth.

"Detecting atmosphere, Captain!" A female technician said, this one a real human, turning to face her superiors with a curt bump of her fist to her chest before bringing it back down.

Nox read the report quickly as it appeared in a small holowindow, "Mostly toxic gasses, and a high sulfur content. Seems we have a little Venus."

"Let's rename it," Decil suggested. "New Venus."

Squall said nothing, merely opening one eye for a moment before returning his concentration to searching out the presences of possible allies hiding out in the ring.

With its dangerous network of strands connecting the rock pieces, it didn't look like navigating Earth's ring would be an easy task, even for small vessels. Those Gundarium strands were like invincible spiderwebbing or ropes for a fishnet, catch something in them, be it some external protuberance on the ship's hull or the hull itself, and the momentum of the craft might push it through the wiring with the effect of cheese through a grater before the engines could shut off and counter thrusters could compensate properly.

Fon Nox surmised all this in a few quick glances, very glad their destination was the bright orange sea looming up to fill the observation port. A quick, humane search and rescue mission for survivors on the Lunar surface, that's all this mission was supposed to be, and hopefully would end with lives saved, not lost.

Almost certainly a futile endeavor; however if Adamantine survived thanks to the quick thinking of its staff and near impenetrable hyperdiamond shield system, the Kratos, the surviving members of the VSF simply couldn't ignore them. They needed Adamantine, and if they could regroup around it they would at least be back to the square they were at around AG117.

The ship's cameras finally managed to pierce the disruption, magnifying the image taken from an unmanned fighter drone flying out ahead of the _Grand Manta, _revealing what had once been the Moon's southern mountains, presumably at least. There was no real indication of any mountainous regions _now, _and that was assuming the Moon hadn't simply had its crust shifted during its final terraforming.

"Scan the lower right of this picture," Fon commanded with a thoughtful frown, brows beading. Something looked odd, an unremarkable network of something in that region on the ocean surface that wasn't _quite _as bright as the surrounding molten rock.

"Captain, the discoloration on the map appears to be some kind of partially cooled landmass, still highly unstable and temperatures are still fluctuating. There appears to be clouds hovering over it that are hindering sensors."

Fon looked back to see that the "land" he noticed now appeared different in shape, was it the clouds? "I assume the clouds are sulfurous?"

"Possibly Sir, we may want to acquire physical samples of vapor before making any definite claims—The interference is still making our scanners a bit buggy."

"Any other methods?"

"A close-in scan is a possibility. The magnetic forces are showing signs of turbulence."

"You mean the Moon's poles are not stable, or are we looking at a second Mars?"

"Possibly, no signs of visible magnetic radiation storms yet, I assume that means presence of genetic mutagenic forces are minimal or virtually nonexistent."

"There are none," Squall spoke up, his trance now broken, Decil performed barrel-roll beside him playfully, also out of his trance. "Found them!" Decil said, pointing toward the planet ring.

"I do not sense that particular disturbance," Squall continued, absently pushing Decil back a pace, ignoring his interruptions. "The Martian sub-atomic genetic altering storm systems gave off a distinct 'fuzz' in my senses. I'm not reading it from the Moon, _yet._ Obviously what happened on the lunar surface is different from Mars."

Fon nodded slowly, happy for the moment to relinquish the growing worry that the Moon was yet another potential deadly hazard as Mars had become, thanks in no small part to the Federation's corrupted terraformer buried there. The thought of it made his blood boil for a moment, then he reminded himself that those people were dead and gone. _The current Federation was not to blame for that._

"Sir, we have detected Fortress Adamantine!"

"Visuals," Fon demanded, showing unusual vigor, bouncing around to face the monitor again like a hyper child after drinking a caffeinated beverage. At long last, good news to break his morbid thoughts! He waited but saw nothing for several minutes, then the technician spoke up again, "It's not on the lunar surface, they're broadcasting a distress signal through Adamantine's primary channel."

"I _said,_" Decil loudly proclaimed, "I 'found them', no one ever listens to me!" Decil folded his arms and started squinting his eyes shut, contorting his face in some hideous grimace. "Wrroooarr! I'll pop your brains like squashed tomatoes! I'll do it if you keep ignoring me!"

"Proceed to their location and request a guidance beacon," Fon ordered, glancing back at Clay for any other commands.

"Look at me fool!"

Clay stepped forward and pushed Decil aside almost like he were shoving trash off the sidewalk, "What is the status of the command structure?" He came to a stop directly beside Fon, his pale face as white as milk and portraying nothing of his emotions, save perhaps an almost grave unease in his periwinkle flecked blue violet eyes.

Fon relayed the order, glancing at his superior's concern with mixed curiosity and suspicion. If An Grams were still living, he may attempt to arrest and detain Decil and Clay under the accusation for war crimes. The former Supreme Commander was known for spiting the Princess' orders to her face and surviving without any real retribution, despite Issishar's reputation for doing…horrific things to those who displeased her.

"I'm not to be challenged! Behoove yourself and bow before my mind rays!"

Clay cupped Decil's mouth shut with one hand, glowering.

The com line screamed a shrill burst of interference, "Offfacting-coffghg….com-mander.. …oo-oken."

"BOW HUMAN SLAVERN!" Decil flung out his hands at Fon Nox.

"Quiet Decil," Clay admonished through gritted teeth, using his food again to kick him back. "Increase the laser's output, punch us through."

"Divert 10% power to transmission laser," Fon authorized—his eyes watching a readout of the ship's energy usage to find it hadn't changed from its current default—he shouldn't have needed to give authorization, a talented crew would interpret Clay's order as authorization enough. More faultiness and uncertainty in the command structure, apparently.

"Cease your depredations on my character," Decil said almost lamely to no effect than when he was threatening to psychically maul them. _They're ignoring me…_he let his shoulders droop a little.

"E…Cohmlinknet..to..act…..tresnpff-f-ferring coordinates to you know, please proceed as instructed," a voice said, growing far more comprehensible and static-clear near the end. The transmission then went totally silent, the monitor screen for it suddenly blanking out into a black rectangle before Clay and Fon's faces.

"What _happened?_" Clay narrowed his eyes and slowly clinched his fists. The holographic displays warbled slightly, almost like gelatin in a bowl jiggling.

Fon watched Clay out of his peripheral vision, tensing instinctively as vivid descriptions of what happened to his friend at Issishar's X-Rounder powers surfaced dourly before him. He swallowed, "Uhm, it appears the link was terminated on their end…Lord Regent."

Clay stared into the blank holographic screen long and absently, almost to the point that Fon felt the irrational urge to wave his hand in front of his superior's face to see if Clay had accidentally fallen into a trance.

_They're ignoring me still, even when I tried to broadcast my powers…._Decil bemoaned to himself, imaging a second him standing alongside. He looked over, _What should we do? _He scratched his head thoughtfully for a moment, sticking his tongue out, _I tried what Issishar would do, but they respected her, and I can't pulp brains like she could. Maybe if they realized I'm good at giving good advice._

_It can't hurt, _his imaginary self said.

"Prepare weapons and get the Tyrannous Zedas ready," Decil commanded in the most calm, collected and totally-in-control voice he could manage, trying to plaster Issishar's confident, almost lethally graceful expressions on his own face.

"What?" Fon turned quickly, having forgotten Decil was there temporarily.

Clay for his part just stared down at Decil with an almost blank look, like a police officer when confronting something they don't like.

Not halting before his regent's clear nonverbal refusal, Decil placed a hand on either side of the two men and attempted to part them like the Red Sea and pass in between. He pushed, then started shoving in both directions, but neither man seemed to be budging. _Move thickheads!_

"Sir?" Fon looked up at Clay, then down at Decil, then back up at Clay. Why in the world was the child suddenly trying to give orders like that? Approaching an allied base with his mobile suit sure, but prep the ship for combat? "Have you detected an enemy presence, Lord Galette?"

"Not a concern of yours," Decil gritted back, renewing his efforts to shove the two men aside.

Clay turned and picked Decil up with one hand on his cape, holding him up like washing hung out to dry, showcasing his incredible strength thanks to his mostly cybernetically enhanced muscle, "Why are you attempting such a dangerous move, Lord Decil?" Clay inquired in an almost monotone that sounded especially threatening coming from him.

_It's all part of my stellar plan! _Decil whined at Clay, communicating through their X-Rounder assisted telepathy. _I need to make a good impression on my future troops if we're going to get them to follow me instead of Zant. You said it yourself I need to act all stuffy and cool._

_It doesn't work right if you don't have a good strategy, idiot, _Clay denounced the boy, dropping him to the floor and watching with almost a touch of humor as Decil just shoulder rolled and got caught momentarily in his cape.

"You can't talk to me like that!" Decil whined, successfully extricating himself.

"_What about holding you up like laundry?"_

"_That TOO!"_

Sighing and _almost _rolling his eyes, Clay turned around and gestured at the door with his hand, "Go, we'll issue preparations."

"Yes!" Decil pumped a fist in the air and left it there like a war banner as he charged off the bridge, cape billowing behind him.

Fon waited until the door slid silently shut and glanced back at Clay, "My Lord Regent, remember this is still a delicate situation.."

"I am aware of the current risks we may be running," Clay replied evenly, although his fists were slightly clinched.

"But you do realize Sir there is a danger. Should we really allow Lord Galette to fly freely during this time? He may cause a ruckus and we can't afford that."

"I thought the same thing Decil has. If he arrives in a mobile suit and not in a silly procession surrounded by babysitters, it will give him a far more capable image. We will let him cause a ruckus, a _small _one."

"I hope we manage to keep it small, if he decides to start talking like he did earlier….

"I've already warned him. I have also silenced the com-line on the Tyrannous Z, he will_ not _have the option of communicating directly without my censure."

_Good to know he thought ahead, _Fon mentally sighed, keeping his outward expressions neutral for now and his attention toward the approaching maze of the planetary ring.

* * *

With a flash of red light emanating off the pair of red-eyed cameras on the Tyrannous Zedas' chest armor, Decil sent his customized machine out of the _Grand Manta's _docking bay. Unlike most ships Decil had formerly occupied as a mobile suit pilot, the _Do Manza _class ships were not very large and only carried room for about one mobile suit and all the spare parts required. About two more Tyrannous Zedas were stored inside the hanger in truth, once pieced together from their storage bins. Arms and legs particularly found themselves amputated during battle, so at least five of these were already constructed and waiting at any given time.

What got to Decil most though was not the tight quarters of the hanger—which made repair work a serious test of patience—but the lack of a ballista magnetic arch system for launching mobile suits ahead of the ship. He had to fight to move ahead of the swift _Do Manza, _and that got him in an irritable mood.

At first; then the tiny threads and globular spit-ball masses of hardened Gundarium came into range, forming an obstacle course of cutting wires and stationary wrecking balls that could easily shred or bash his machine to pieces at any decent speed.

Decil sailed into the dangerous maze ahead of the _Grand Manta,_ constantly letting his X-Rounder senses fly out in all directions, making his human movements twitchy and ready to flick the control yoke in an instant.

Despite their initial race, the Tyrannous Z gained the lead impressively, maneuvering through wide openings in the webbing or just skimming along the large, smoothened blobs of rock that made up the bulk of the ring. Meanwhile the _Grand Manta _had to slowly weave its own path, the spaces the Tyrannous flew through without a care far too small to accommodate the larger craft.

"Is this it? Looks a lot different from before…," Decil noted to himself, staring ahead into the debris and finding a glittering structure resting neatly within an open space in the ring's network of Gundarium webbing.

Adamantine once had been a colony named Fardain, Decil knew well, before becoming Vagan's signature stronghold on the Moon's late Tycho Crater. Heck, he'd been there when Operation Bee's Nest reduced the interior to a smoking nightmare.

His brother even gained a name for himself during the One Year Siege the Federation waged to get the colony back, Bloody Dragon was it? That reminded him, he might want to wake little Zeheart up soon, they needed all the help they could get.

"Ew," Decil said almost to himself, flinching slightly as he drew near enough to the station and realized that it wasn't in an open space with no webbing, it was in the dead _center. _The Gundarium had wrapped a protective cocoon of the most durable metal currently known to Earth about Adamantine, thoroughly cutting off the potential for large fleet movements near the base, Vagan and Federation alike.

The base itself didn't look so good either. However it happened to escape the carnage of the Moon's volcanic rebirth, the process hardly involved a safe, harmless departure. Adamantine was supposed to look like a cylindrical colony, quite large and thick in comparison to most others, more a soda can shape in comparison to a paper towel roll.

If Adamantine had been shaped like a soda can, it now resembled a soda can after being sliced in half by a dull knife and then having its remaining length stepped on. Then the stepped on piece had its cut end fused together crudely and finally coated in orange and gold glitter along its grey surface, which was now partially blackened near the wide rear of the fortress.

"Wow, what happened here?" Decil asked almost rhetorically, looking about for the other have of the stinking fortress. He didn't see it anywhere, although now and again he noticed bright orange bits off in the distance, presumably pieces of the fortress' Kratos shield.

Wanting to get up close, Decil boosted his machine forward and sent it into a complex run through the maze, drawing exclamations of dismay from his comline as people immediately got on at both Adamantine and aboard the _Grand Manta _to urge him against moving so swiftly.

Decil ignored them, although he knew well the risks of potentially being shredded to pieces by the innumerable wires. He wanted to get closer _now, _not wait. Besides, it would do well to give them a show of is awesome, unrivaled mobile suit piloting skills!

"I'm gonna lose some horns this time," he sighed in resignation as one such horn was sliced cleanly off when he got too close to a Gundarium thread.

An upgrade from his beloved xvv Zedas, the Tyrannous Zedas had been personally customized by Decil to evoke a more fearsome impression when viewed by his enemies. While the Zedas had been sleek and relatively unadorned by decoration of any kind, practical or ornamental, the Tyrannous looked very much like a nightmare from a Jurassic sci-fi thriller. Its black armor was now adorned with crimson horns that looked very much like serrated teeth steeped in blood, a set of four running along its thighs and ending at the new knee blades, some along the shins, and a whole set of twenty per shoulder. The torso and chest area was now modeled in the fashion of a Pteranodon, only with sharp teeth partially coated in red paint, giving the impression it had recently taken a bite of flesh.

The face also possessed a pair of cameras shaped like eyes that functioned as extra targeting sensors for the new prototype cannon installed within the head's "mouth". It wasn't a scatterbeam like on the Zedas, much to Decil's mild displeasure, but having the power of a photon cannon capable of wiping out a ship in one hit more than made up for it. On the downside, getting the photon cannon hit would result in Decil and his new prized steed atomizing, but hey, that's what the mouth armor was there for, to guard against incoming fire, able to close and opened in an instant if needed to protect the volatile weapon.

The Tyrannous' final change was that its tail sword had been replaced with a wider slab of metal, with serrated horns lining one side. When held in the machine's hands, it looked like a giant half sword half club, not a pretty thing by any means, and certainly impossible to maneuver about swiftly like Decil had become a master of doing, but this new Zedas wasn't designed for that anyway.

Indeed, the Tyrannous was not even capable of attaining the same degree of agility of the original, sacrificing several thruster panels for more armor and the horns, which acted as melee weapons. The Tyrannous was there to crush terrified foes under its merciless ferocity. He regretted changing his style, but he realized after his last defeat at the hands of Federation ace Woolf Enneacle that his methods of wildly attacking in an erratic fashion was simply not working anymore now that his rivals were accustomed to it. A new approach was needed, hence the Tyrannous Zedas.

It could, however, still move well up near the original's top speed, and so long as he didn't have to turn more than fifty degrees in either direction, maneuver through the Gundarium obstacle field just fine.

* * *

Gliding down with almost artistic ease, like a real sting ray dipping to the seafloor, the _Grand Manta _slid into the docking bay with all the nimble grace a _Do Manza _could muster after running what basically amounted to a freak natural ship grater.

Needless to say the ship had suffered only several minor hull breaches that were sealed quickly, and still had both wings attached, though one breach had been in the engine room and the thruster panels on the backside of the left wing sparked and pulsed erratically now and then as the Flicker system attempted to fire off.

A small contingent of officers in the traditional Vagan garb, grey and green robes with turban-like shrouds about their heads, stood ready to greet the landing party disembarking from the ship.

Fon Nox noted the pair of defense turrets flanking the hanger's only visible exit and decided the Adamantine staff were taking all the precautions they could manage in case Clay Squall turned out to be a fanatic devotee to Issishar's ways.

His fears turned out to be unfounded, as the leader of the base staff moved forward quickly and bowed, "Executor Squall, it is an honor _and _a relief to have contact with other space forces. I am Nico Solferino, acting base commander."

"The feeling is mutual," Squall replied evenly, his eyes searching the commander's entourage to make sure they shared their leader's sentiments, "We came to inquire of the fortress' current situation. We have heard _very little_."

"I'm afraid we are all mostly stragglers from the eruption. Most of us did not survive when the colony was torn in half. Actually, we were hoping you were a rescue force coming to relieve us, we have no real method of transporting ourselves off the colony, and there are still plenty of stockpiles left we don't want the enemy getting their hands on. I felt bad about destroying them, so we stayed here. Water and air are our most scant commodities.

"Understood," Clay replied, "how many survivors are we talking about?"

"Roughly ninety of us, if you count those of us who are awake…." Nico trailed off leadingly.

"The cold sleep chambers survived then," Fon Nox said beside Clay, frowning, "How many of them are there?"

"Not all the chambers survived, however we counted three hundred secure pods."

"They won't fit on our ship," Clay replied with a wave of his hand, "if they don't require immediate attention we can wait on them. In the meantime I want a list of supplies. We can take what we need aboard the _Grand Manta _and secure the rest until we need it. Presently there is nowhere left to go other than Adamantine, so I can only offer a trip to one of our _Fa Bose _right now."

"Adamantine may not serve as a good stronghold any longer, Lord Executor," Nico replied, "the Kratos shield blew when it overheated trying to protect us from the terraforming. Entire sectors of that part of the base are impossible to access. The hull itself is also very unstable right now, Lord."

"I am"-Squall stopped and turned with the rest to see the Tyrannous Zedas finishing up its crazy series of maneuvers through the field of Gundarium thread, slowing to a more modest pace as it came up to the opened docking bay.

"Open the magnetic field for the mobile suit's entry," commanded one of the officers standing behind Nico into a holoscreen. Moments later the Tyrannous passed through and landed carefully with a slight shudder as the artificial gravity took hold.

Decil Galette hopped out of the cockpit as the face of the machine opened up to reveal the red access hatch. He activated a thruster pack on his normal suit's back and flew down to stand directly in front of the base officers, where he removed his helmet.

"I am Decil Galette, Vizier of the Earth Sphere territories," Decil announced, trying not to sound haughty or demeaning, he was beginning to see that got a bad reaction from most people.

"Vizier?" Nico asked in surprise. Then a strange look passed over his face. "What has become of Princess Eve?"

"Issishar Ezelcant is dead," Decil replied, cutting off Clay's reply, "I am her successor."

"Decil Galette," Nico muttered the name carefully beneath his breath, "You were her prized Executor. By who's command did you receive this title?"

"Don't be frightened," Decil cried out quickly, thinking fast. His X-Rounder senses were picking up a lot of hostile thoughts from their minds. Issishar was obviously not one of their idols. "I'm not like Issishar! I don't want to hurt people like that for no reason! It's true!" He yelled, stamping one foot.

"The Vagan Space Force is all scattered after what she and Zant did. You see the Earth right? It was all _her _doing, I know—I was there at the North Pole and there on the _Coronet _when she died! Issishar was crazy but I'm not crazy. We have to band together and try to protect what territory we already have, and if you follow me…if you follow me we won't do terrible things like Issishar did! I don't want to take the Earth that way!"

"This-this is a bit sudden," Nico said, blinking rapidly and taking a tentative step back, putting his arms behind his back and looking at Fon Nox and Clay with suspicion. "We-

-we have to stand together or it's going to be no use! Don't let all the soldiers who've died get tarnished because you were afraid of a little kid!" Decil snapped.

Decil turned toward the Tyrannous and started yelling about how the White Devil, Flit Asuno, wouldn't stop until the Vagans were all killed, and how he wasn't going to let that happen. Clay and Fon Nox stared at him with open mouths, almost as taken aback and astonished as the Adamantine staff were.

He turned back to them, "Let's get some containers and lasso them to the _Grand Manta's _tail! I can use the Tyrannous to keep them away from the Gundarium webs! We'll leave Adamantine and go back to the cluster of colonies Clay and me took! We can hold out there 'till reinforcements come from Mars!" he spread his hands, grinning hopefully.

_Are you watching, Issishar? _He asked as he saw the men from Adamantine beginning to nod in agreement, taken in by his simple but practical solution to their current dilemma, his previous performance showing he had the skill if he were careful. It would take some doing to dispel their doubts, but there was a good chance now of gaining their trust. _I'm going to steal their hearts back for us. I won't let Mr. Flit wipe us out! It'll be him, I promise._

Same time—Federation _Phalanx _class stealth vessel, _Mercy Kill, _planetary ring

"Maintain present course, keep us within the Moon's reflection zone," Captain Trimmings demanded, glancing somewhat nervously at the volcanic satellite as it moved slowly beside the ship, its light reflecting on the ring and turning the silvery grey rock shades of orange and red, like a sunset. The _ Mercy Kill's _hull shifted its color to match its surroundings, exchanging an extra layer of armor to fit on the Chameleon Scale patterning plates.

It was almost as good as having a proper cloak system if at long to mid-range. Trimmings doubted in the ability of Adamantine to detect them amidst all this blinding interference but one could never discount the potential for Vagan technology to easily overcome such a hurdle. Crippling for a Federation ship was often a mere inconvenience for a Martian ship.

"What have our observation cams detected?" Fleet Admiral Flit Asuno asked, not looking up from the armrest-mounted computer screen on his chair beside Trimmings.

"Nothing as yet Sir," the XO supplied from a raised seat behind Flit. "They caught a flash two minutes ago, possibility of it belonging to a Vagan MS is likely."

"They aren't being cautious, which means Adamantine might still possess some semblance of defense," Flit mused. "When the recon pods return we can decide whether or not to drop in for a visit."

"What are you planning to find there, Sir?" Trimmings asked, voicing a question most of the crew was wondering for themselves.

"Since our preliminary sweeps only got a quick glimpse of Adamantine we can't know if it has been completely abandoned and scuttled. I hope to find something there that can give us some more complete samples of their technology, such as a whole Gafran without battle damage."

"Clear pictures have been formed," a crew member announced, "Zedas sighting confirmed—it looks like the one appearing at various skirmishes over the past three days."

"Decil Galette," Flit muttered with narrowing eyes. "Chances are Adamantine is still occupied," Flit announced. "What's the recon units' ETA?"

"Two minutes, we haven't found them on our cameras yet…" the sensors officer reported, sounding somewhat worried. "We should have them within the cameras' visual range soon."

Time went on, the _Mercy Kill _crept on, the bridge growing eerily silent as the time ticked away from two minutes to four, then five.

At ten minutes, Flit felt a ticklish shiver at the back of his neck. "Captain, please slow us down," Flit ordered, closing his eyes and settling into a trance. "Prepare to withdraw."

"Sir?"

"Just do it," Flit responded, already feeling his X-Rounder senses spreading out from the genetically engineered organ in his skull. A vision of the black depths of space materialized in his mind, with the lone figure of a little boy with red hair grinning back.

"_I see you survived Antarctica. I shouldn't have let Woolf handle you, he's too soft." _

"_Did he ever tell you why?" _Decil giggled.

"_I'm sure there was a reason," _Flit replied. Decil destroyed the recon pods, most likely as a means of telling him to back off more than lead him into an ambush, since it was nearly impossible for people like Flit and Decil to fall into a proper trap.

Flit snapped open his eyes, feeling a slight headache coming on. Sadly the X-Region was not a muscle and didn't grow accustomed to being stressed. It was a lot like a person's vision; it could be strained if pushed too far without rest. Sighing, Flit glanced out the main viewport, unable to focus in on Decil's location. "Reverse course, we're withdrawing."

"Prepare observation cameras for rearguard duty, don't get those chords tangled," the XO commanded promptly.

"What of the recon unit?" Trimmings inquired.

"The recon pods have been destroyed," Flit replied, his senses still focused to make sure Decil Galette did not decide to press the advantage. He felt or rather saw a flash of green light, his senses alerting him of Decil's actions, he closed his eyes for a moment in respect for the pilots. "They won't be coming back."

* * *

Inside the Tyrannous Zedas, Decil withdrew his machine's hand from the metal carcass of one of the pods, an oblong thing that looked like a piece of scrap metal even before he thrust his spiked combat claws inside and ripped it apart from within.

He looked down at the blood coating his machine's fingers and smirked in the direction of Flit's spy ship. "Next time," the Tyrannous Zedas turned about and rocketed away in a flash of crimson from its thrusters, "I'll gut you, Flit."


	3. Prologue After the Fall III: Necessary

**After the Fall III: Necessary Tragedies **

AG142, October 1st—Earth Sphere, Akanksha India, Navin Nala-"New Stem"-Research Institute

Day 1

_We are arrived at NS today. I don't know what it stands for. Admiral Flit called it something else, a long name I don't know. Mr. Einaus calls it NS so it must be the same thing. They told me not to move or blink, so I'm not even though my eyes burn. _

"Optic laser transmitter is set, Ryuu, you can blink now."

_They dilated my eyes and keep me in here, talking through that intercom in front of the glass. Are they afraid to come in? _

Director Klaus moves to something and frowns.

_It's me, I am the one causing this. They said not to think, so I'm thinking. I should be allowed to think._

"Ryuu," Klaus says, "Please quiet your brain activity now. We are preparing to begin the procedure."

Back to the Arrival

_I'm in the big, armored colored tank truck behind Ms. Milias and Mr-Admiral Flit's truck. It's an armored tank truck too. I don't get to ride with them. Mr. Fli—Admiral Flit doesn't trust me. Why doesn't he trust me? I didn't kill Ms. Milias or Mr. Woolf when we fought. I could have. _

_Is he afraid of me? I'm afraid of him. Why is he afraid? _

_I want to sit with Ms. Milias. A nice big kid is with me. I can hear his thoughts, and moving pictures of him and people who like him are always popping up. I'm like..like..like _Her_, the one who woke me up. Admiral Flit and Ms. Milias are like Her, too. They said I'm special and can see things like this big kid's memories, and hear what he's thinking like he is talking with his voice. _

Ryuuzaki curls up in a ball, ignoring the reassuring pat on the shoulder from the young soldier escorting him. _I won't hurt you, Admiral Flit. Why are you so scared? I'm not the Princess. _

_I can still hear them, Ms. Milias and the Admiral. They don't know it, but I can easily._

The brand spanking new mass driver towered into the air with all the grand scope every rollercoaster designer dreamt of creating, the top of the rails ending at a perfect ninety degree angle.

_In ten years, that thing will be a relic of passed, _Flit Asuno observed with a thoughtful smile as his eyes passed over the mass driver and the cranes and work crews putting the finishing touches on the monolithic structure like busy ants scurrying along a stick. The old Silver Chalice Treaty banned old technology and forced the people of Earth to basically revert into a sort of Dark Age of technology.

Recently, the treaty had been totally dissolved on the grounds of emergency in the wake of Issishar Ezelcant's ruthless biological attack on July 1st only a little over a year ago in AG41. As such, the "new" mass driver that Flit planned to have built in place of this one was technically an _old _design. Flit shifted focus to that new future driver, which right now consisted of a deep pit in the ground where MS-sized bulldozers jugged away reshaping the landscape.

_That's what he's thinking. I wish I had windows….this tank car's are shut off. They're not real windows, just computer screens. He likes to build things, Admiral Flit does. His mind is full of ideas for stuff._

"Flit," a woman's voice sounded in his ear.

Flit turned back in his seat, remembering that his long-time friend and now subordinate Milias Alloy was seated there with him. "Sorry, what was it?"

Milias rolled her eyes. "You're too distracted and up-tight, Flit. As the new Fleet Admiral you can't alienate your forces by going off every three days to this private project."

"As the supreme commander-in-chief of all our military forces I have tasks that the rank and file can't know about. If they take it the wrong way that's their problem, Milias."

"It doesn't matter if you have a good excuse," Milias tapped him on the shoulder, "remember those rank and file troops are what makes up the military. The Top Brass can't be as effective if they don't retain their subordinates' respect."

"I said I know that, Milias."

"And that's why I'm so worried. Ever since I knew you as a kid on Nora, you were always dedicated—no, obsessed with fending off the threat the UE posed. Now this new little pet project has you completely distracted from that goal. It's out of character for you."

"I know you're concerned," Flit turned to face Milias, his brow furrowing as he noticed the look of reproach on her face. He could feel her anger in the air too. "Don't look at me like that. This project is extremely valuable—no, vital!"

"Flit, Issishar dropped _two _colonies on us. The civilians and the environment need help more than your scientific curiosity. Have you helped administrate or organize any of the disaster relief efforts? Set up some means of reversing all this terrible damage?"

_I helped Her drop them, I fought Ms. Milias on a piece of the colony as it fell. _Ryuuzaki cringes._ Then I saved her! _ He perks up._ But…it doesn't change I helped make the colonies fall. I saved Ms. Milias from burning up while falling, but she's only one person. Admiral Flit thinks I'm a monster. _

"Yes I have," Flit asserted indignantly. "This entire facility."

_Facility. Is that where they are taking me?_

Milias threw her head back and massaged her temples, "I give up. If I ever rise in the ranks fast enough to become Fleet Admiral, will you consider resigning?"

"Not for anything," Flit retorted, cracking a smile to show he was joking, only to find that Milias was still taking him seriously. Flit's eyes darkened and he sighed heavily. "Milias, we are both X-Rounders— genetically modified humans. We have parts of our brains that give us access to emotions and powers that confuse and alienate us from normal people. You should feel just as strongly about studying X-Rounder physiology as me. We owe it to ourselves as much as every other X-Rounder out there to learn what we can."

"I understand it Flit, I do really. What I do understand that you _don't _is that we are descendants from _test subjects _who were transformed into what we are—probably against their will," she gestured with her thumb back at the APC following behind them. "I don't know enough about whoever it was who created the Extrasensors and X-Rounders or why they were tampering with genetic enhancement."

"Which is why we need to decipher the secrets of our-

-which is why," Milias interrupted, "which is why I don't want us treading the same ground just to figure out 'why' and 'how'. I don't want us to end up creating _more _people like us, Flit. You want to create a facility for studying X-Rounders like you and me, how can I know that won't end like I'm afraid it will."

"I think I know what you're getting at," Flit scowled and his face hardened, accentuating the hard frown lines starting to appear there on his otherwise still youthful face. "This is about the boy again. You don't want us using Ryuuzaki as a test subject because you're afraid I will mistreat him simply because he's a Vagan."

Ryuuzaki lowers his head, _A test subject. That is what I am. Issi-no, She said that I was something like that. I don't remember much about the early years. She woke me up..and then before that it's all blank. Maybe I belong in a lab. I don't want to. I don't want to go there. Even if I was at some place like it._

Milias narrowed her eyes at Flit, "am I wrong to be afraid?"

"Milias!" Flit snapped, his back going ramrod straight. "Listen to yourself. This is _me, _Flit. I would never hurt him like that while he's in our care. However he has powers that dwarf ours, so much so it would be comical if it weren't so frightening. You experienced what Issishar Ezelcant was able to do with her Extrasensor powers. Ryuuzaki is by all that we have been able to determine by appearance and preliminary tests, a relative of hers if not her own son!"

_He _is _afraid. But I don't want to hurt you, Mr. Flit. I'm not HER!_

"Ryuuzaki's memories indicate he was born artificially," Milias replied. "And as far as I can tell, Issishar did nothing _but_ torture him as a means of coercing him to fight. His personality is nothing like hers."

"That doesn't matter, Milias. The facts are facts; Ryuuzaki possesses enough raw potential to psychically mangle someone from half way across the globe. That's scary. At the least we need to make sure he suppresses his powers properly and never attempts to become a dictator like Issishar did."

_She made me have dreams about hurting people, when she put me asleep in that cold chamber. In the dreams I killed. I killed until I got sick. I will never do that! Maybe I _should _be here, if I can be like her if I wanted…Mr. Flit might help me make sure that doesn't happen. But…Ms. Milias. You're right, I don't want to be like her. I'm not. I am NOT Issishar!_

"He's a child! A seven year old child who's been abused above and beyond what most people can attest to! One look at his eyes and you can see that vacant look," Milias protested, fists clenching and unclenching. "When Ryuuzaki fought me during the Colony Drop, he was crying the whole time and _apologizing _for it. He's not like Issishar, no matter what their genetics may tell you. A string of amino acids don't determine who you are!"

"Milias please—he willingly consented to be part of this project, even if deep down he doesn't really want to be. What do you want me to do with him, send him to school so he can learn to brainwash his math teachers?"

"Yes! Let him grow up like a human being and not a dangerous specimen. Flit, don't you have a heart at all?"

"Of course I do, and that's why I want Ryuuzaki kept safe and in the care of people I've hand-picked to make sure he's not in danger of hurting himself." Flit's face took on a pained aspect, and he shuddered, "…Yurin told me how her powers made her suffer. Perhaps if she had lived with those who understood her uniqueness for what it was, she might have found a place here and not amongst the Martians. Ryuuzaki can go to school if he wants. But he must remain with us for at least a few years now to make sure his powers don't go out of control. If he got angry, it would only take a thought to do something irreversible and tragic. Then I would be _forced _by my conscience to keep him isolated! That's all Milias. You act like I plan to throw him onto a operating table and dissect him!"

"I know you won't," Milias replied only half convinced, "But I have other ideas about that Einaus man. What rock did you find that cockroach hiding under?"

"Klaus Einaus is a brilliant young man. His knowledge of genetics is unrivaled by anyone save for Nomi Smith, and only because Doctor Nomi hid in the Sargo Debris Zone for decades unearthing outlawed medical research."

"He has mad scientist written all over his face," Milias returned, this time laughing at how Flit seemed so blind to the obvious, "Hah, haven't you watched the movies Flit? Einaus is the kind of guy who'll ultimately end up the traitor villain of the story, the one who performed all those horrible tests without the director knowing, or built a hidden room in the lab. Good grief, what am I saying? He's already director of your lab! He's _already _doing those things behind your back. How can you in good conscience put a man you only recently met in charge of the X-Rounder research institution?"

"Because I have to attend to my military duties and assist in curbing this natural disaster," Flit replied caustically. "As I am often berated by close _subordinates _about my lack of attention to them."

_You hurt Ms. Milias' feelings! No! No, don't lose control, don't shout at him! That's what She made me do in dreams when people got me mad! Mr. Flit doesn't need to get scared of me right now. _Ryuuzaki takes a few deep breaths, squeezing his eyes. He's better than Issishar was to him, he has to prove it to Admiral Flit!

"Yes, Admiral," Milias returned with equal venom.

Flit shifted uncomfortably in the following silence as the APC continued toward the lab's construction site five miles from the mass driver. "Besides researching X-Rounders, this facility will also help us reverse-engineer Vagan technology. Medel Zant Gramis is still on the loose with his forces, not to mention Decil Galette. So long as the Vagan remnants are here, we need a place secure and hidden for this task. When we get time to, we will eventually move the terraformer Grodek dropped to the Arctic. We located it; it's on Ellesmere Isle. We can eventually bring it here and figure out just exactly what it is supposed to do and how it works. Who knows, we may eventually be able to totally reverse the damage caused by the Colony Drops."

Milias said nothing, staring up at the dark clouds moving overhead, heralding an early rainy season, and maintained silence even when the APC stopped and the pair exited, stepping out onto jungle foliage stretching into a dense and forbidding jungle that dropped away into a deep natural valley.

Milias shivered. The temperature felt like they were much farther north. It felt ominous, to realize subtropical regions were this cold already.

They walked along a barely visible path, the APC moving on up ahead through a road that cut through the forest and led to a camouflaged entrance leading to underground bunkers and hangers that acted as storage bins for the construction equipment.

Flit halted by a gnarled tree, grabbing hold of its thick trunk as he leaned over the edge of the steep valley, the whole of which stretched out before his eyes in all its grander; a piece of nature thankfully undisturbed by Colony Drops or other disasters. Most of India was not in such a tranquil state, covered in radiation from some long ago disaster. This region seemed to have miraculously avoided the calamity, and the lack of people here made it a perfect location for a hidden research institute.

Beneath this natural beauty lay the beginnings of Flit's greatest scientific pursuit, Navin Nala, New Stem. It would be the nexus for all his future projects, away from the prying eyes and meddling hands of Dique Gunhale, who'd already run him out of Ashrite Orbital, his old research station turned orbital defense station. Good thing that Flit had been thinking ahead. Dique could have the space research station, it was now obsolete.

"It's beautiful," Milias whispered, breath stolen by the captivating cataracts falling down the other side of the valley into the green carpet of trees below. White birds fluttered in the treetops and let loose distant cries.

"It certainly is," Flit agreed, "Even more so because Zant won't suspect what's really under here. Decil on the other hand might be a problem, assuming he ever comes down to Earth again. We deal with that when we come to it," Flit continued, not staying entranced by the scenery for too long, it was unhealthy in his eyes, to get distracted from important calculations. _As Fleet Admiral, I have to stay on track. I can relax my mind when the world is right again._ Flit motioned for Milias to follow and they retreated from the valley.

_Aw, don't look away….I wanted to see more jungle….my truck is still moving, are we going underground? The driver is seeing dark ahead of us. _Ryuuzaki feels a cold chill. It feels like the tunnel is swallowing the truck whole.

* * *

The metal halls and earthen roof of the manmade cavern echoed with the sound of hundreds of workers scurrying about to and fro unloading and loading equipment as new shifts of workers with differing jobs shifted in an endless cycle to complete the base. Mining equipment echoed in the distance, as well as the din of several portable generators hooked by power cables in a circle at a far end of the room.

Milias and Flit picked their way through the hustle, stepping over black cables running to various pieces of machinery, squinting as someone moved a shiny piece of aluminum and reflected the overhead floodlights dangling on hooks right into his eyes.

"It will of course, be far more quiet and conducive to proper research," Flit shouted to be heard as someone powered up a very loud saw and started cutting pieces of two-by-fours, sending saw dust into the air, where the tiny particles sparkled with dust in the beam of an overhanging floodlight.

"I estimate Stem's Root Level will be complete by November 12th or 15th," Klaus Einaus replied, not realizing that Flit had been trying to reassure Milias that Navin Nala would be far more quiet a home for the boy trailing close to her, holding his ears against the noise.

"Thank you, Einaus," Flit replied, although he needn't have bothered given that the other man never heard.

They exited the busy hanger and entered a slightly less noisy room, this one covered with hard, grey metal plating and sporting two very familiar objects. Milias raised her eyebrows in surprise at the pair of white ovoid pods sitting on firm braces in one corner of the room. "The AGE Builders?"

"Quite so," Klaus Einaus announced, fiddling with his thin glasses, trying to get his maroon bangs out of his eyes. "They are in storage now. We will move them to the Root Level when the TG Project begins, which shall take place here in this facility."

"You're not letting Alfred Clonwell oversee the creation of the AGE-2?" Milias asked.

"That is the current plan," Klaus replied, taking off his glasses and stowing them so that no further dust and grit would get on them.

"I was speaking to Flit, not you…what is your rank anyway?" Milias demanded.

"Supervisor of Operations, or Director for short," Klaus clasped his hands behind his back smartly and scowled down at Milias with hard grey eyes, "Currently I am the highest ranking officer here and have total authority next to Admiral Asuno. It is you who are out of line, Major."

_One could hope at least, _Milias scarcely managed not to bite a lip. "I apologize, Director."

"Nn, no offense taken." Klaus glanced down at his watch, pulling up a sleeve to his black jacketed uniform. Klaus stepped by Milias and Flit, stopping in front of the little boy trying to remain unnoticed, white bangs hanging down in front of his wide, untrusting eyes. Klaus' face remained totally unreadable as he spoke, "Ryuuzaki Ezelcant, I presume."

"Y-yes-

-it is time to visit the preliminary lab, Shoot."

"Hold on," Milias snapped, whirling around with sudden anger glittering in her eyes, "he only just arrived!"

"Be a little more sensitive, Klaus," Flit interjected, reaching out a hand placatingly, "Ryuu understands he is here to learn, not be used as a subject."

Klaus half turned his head at Flit, pausing for a moment in silence before finally, "Understood, Ryuuzaki, please step this way, you will be done shortly and allowed a few moments with the Major before her departure."

Klaus led Ryuuzaki away, who turned back and stared after Milias until the pair were out of sight.

Milias clinched her fists and gave Flit a hard stare. "If anything happens to him," she whispered, and stepped passed him, "Woolf and me won't sit idly by."

Earth Orbit, Federation Fleet Rendezvous point

Feeling the weight of years finally settling upon his shoulders, Woolf Enneacle let the faint air currents propel him along the hall like a piece of driftwood. He felt and looked like a piece of trash, hair disheveled from his usual style, and face covered in stubble for the first time in recent memory, looking like he'd just had his face dusted with powdered sugar.

Military protocol demanded a little better from its officers on normal occasions, but right now not too many people really cared at the moment, or was there anyone to enforce the rules who didn't respect him too much to say something. The Federation command structure teetered on the edge of chaos. With so many officers lost in the weeks surrounding the Day Angels Fell, including currently MIA Admiral Ramses Stone, the space fleets had mostly returned to their home colonies to garrison against potential threats.

And boy were there a lot of them. _Whatever deal Ract and old Grodek had fell through right at the end, _Woolf thought, staring out the viewport at a cluster of bedraggled warships of varying colors, with numerous Federation maintenance pods scurrying over their hulls; what was left of the Zalam remnant space forces after fighting a uphill battle against the Federation's overwhelming numbers.

The Vagan were no longer the only threat the Federation now faced, with the inclusion of the Zalam and EUBA remnants attempting to resurrect their long dead dream of annexing the colonies from Earth, Woolf supposed more fighting waited up ahead. No wonder the Federation forces wanted to stick closer to home, not that they could do much if the Vagan decided to launch another biological attack.

Woolf lazily saluted a new recruit wearing a pilot's uniform. The recruit smiled and saluted back, Woolf tried not to look completely like he wanted the poor girl to go away and halted his jetsam floating by grabbing the rail beneath the window.

"Commander Enneacle, it's an honor to meet you Sir," the pilot said as she extended a hand, obviously taking Woolf's disheveled state that stiff collar protocol wasn't high on his priorities list. "Petty Officer 1st Class, Tiffu Heartway. I am being assigned to your new squadron, Commander."

"Newbie huh, well I guess it's a novelty meeting famous me," Woolf drawled, trying his best not to sound sarcastic. To his ears it sounded like he failed miserably.

"Yes Sir, I'm very excited for this opportunity. Did you really defeat Pandora's Turn Alpha Gundam?" She asked excitedly.

"What?" Woolf winced. _How did this kid find out about that? The lid was supposed to be tight on the Gundam. _"The whole system's going down the tubes."

"I saw it in the hanger," Tiffu said, cocking her head to the side, "Was it supposed to be a secret?"

"Last I heard," Woolf scratched his head, "I'm trying to remember…wasn't there a memo?" He muttered, starting to go back to yesterday and the _long _conversation he'd had with Milias about what Flit intended to do with the boy. He supposed the Vagan Gundam was going to follow them down shortly, in pieces.

"Commander?"

Woolf snapped out of his revere, "Sorry, I drifted off," he realized he'd been working his hand on the rail like he wanted to rip it to pieces. He rubbed the throb out of his palm, "What did it look like?"

"Sir?"

"The Alpha."

Tiffu perked up, "It was in pieces! They had cables and wires and technicians crawling all over it! It looked like they were packing it into some container crates—the _reinforced _kind, you know with the warnings all over the sides in red that the logistics crews never pay any mind to. Chief Gunhale was in a shouting match with some brownhaired guy. Was that about them taking it apart in the open like that? Chief Gunhale looked pretty upset."

"No, I'm sure it was for other reasons," Woolf replied. Dique was almost certainly getting his brain twisted into a knot trying to plot how he could get at the valuable piece of weaponry before Flit. Fat chance of _that. _"He's got that mad scientist lab he's building planetside. When was he _building _it? We didn't even know until yesterday…."

"Um, Commander, should I be listening to this?" Tiffu asked. She scratched her head, "It all sounds a little above my paygrade. If you need me to forget-

-no worries," Woolf said, waving a hand and heaving out a sigh that deflated his chest. "If Clonwell and the Gunhales had a pissing match in front of everyone they're at fault for drawing attention to it. Anyway, the technology's going to end up on and in our suits—_it better—_why keep quiet about it? The enemy already know the technology, they built it.

"I see what you mean," Tiffu said. She started scratching her scalp, "So…would you to care give me a few pointers? I mean—you're the senior-most pilot in the entire military! Everyone talks about you at the academy and how amazing you are! And you're not even a genetically geared pilot!"

"Genetiwhatsit? Oh, you mean like Milias and Flit. What have they been teaching these kids?" Woolf thought about it, rubbing his stubbly chin and trying to get his brain working through the dull ache of a mild hangover. That booz he'd found hidden away in the cabin they assigned him might not have been the best thing to drink...but what could he do after hearing what Flit planned to do with the poor Vagan kid? _No Woolf! Focus! The Prime Minister was shot, we have rebels outside guarding a giant fortress, Martians in control of a dead colony cluster, and now an old pal is wanting to experiment on a little boy. The _last, _no, the_ WORST _thing I need right now are some raw brats who can't even shoot straight. _

"I won't take long, Sir!"

"I get that," Woolf said, mentally rolling his eyes. _Famous last words, Kid. _"How's your performance record?"

"I'm a fast learner, that's a promise. The others don't even hold a candle to me and my fifty two wins and 2 losses! Didn't you read about it in the report?"

"Well," Woolf took a deep breath and banished the last of the groggy headache gnawing at his grey matter, "Tell you what; I've seen too many pilots end up dead because they weren't ready. Those academy courses are shit, no other words for it. They're a thousand times better than what I dealt with when I entered—actually I wriggled in on the grounds of becoming a recruitment model. If you want to learn, I'm gonna teach you. _From the ground up._"

"No offense Commander," Tiffu said, stiffening slightly. The girl had nerve when she needed it, that was plain in her amber eyes, "but that was in the old days before the war. The military isn't foiled up with that kind of bureaucracy. Our training regimen is hardly something to laugh at—not that you don't know better of course."

"Like I said, they're training's shit," Woolf replied with an adamant shake of his head. "Listen," he poked her in the chest with a finger, causing her to float back and cry out in surprise. He wagged the finger, "If you want to fight good enough to get your Comet, you'll need to relearn everything. If you serve under me, I retrain you from scratch. Fighting in those close formations and stuff have their place, but most of those tactics don't work on a battlefield where everything is chaotic. I feel sorry for you kids, I really do. You're in for the long haul with this war, I'll help you survive it, but you have to promise to do what I say, even when it seems like you can't. That's no guarantee you'll live but you won't get a better chance anywhere else."

"Oh of course Sir! I expect nothing less but the strictest training from the White Wolf. I am honored you are willing to take the time."

Woolf grabbed the rail and pushed himself down the hall, calling back over his shoulder, "Whoa there; I'm about to whip you into shape so hard you'll hate me for it. Thank me after you pass." _If you pass._

* * *

Woolf felt that heavy burden develop claws; his shoulders ached and protested as he clambered into his pilot's suit. He started for his G-Bouncer, then halted with one hand on the gantry. The white Gundam's eyes stared back at him mournfully.

That weight had shifted to his chest again. He felt lightheaded. Woolf wiped his brow. "Maybe I can use the simulators instead," he decided, tossing his helmet at a bewildered mechanic. Muttering a curse, Woolf kicked himself back toward the floor. He couldn't even get into his MS anymore without feeling tired. _I'm tired. _He thought, feeling it in his eyes, the way they blurred and burned from strain. This proved it. _I'm too old for this, _he thought, clinching his fists.

"_Woolf, I know we had something going back at Minsry, and I want you to know I think I love you…but we both know it's too late for this kind of romance. Flit needs someone to watch him, he's abandoning everything to see the Vagans thrown off the Earth. And I have a dream of being a ship's captain. Decil's still out there, until you can look me in the eyes and say he and his mother don't hold that place in your heart, I can't really be the center of it. That goes for me too. I'm sorry, Woolf. You're ok with this right?"_

"Sure," Woolf went to the locker room and threw off the suit and stuffed it into his locker, slamming it several times before he realized a part of the material was covering the lock. He swore and swiped the piece of rubbery fabric away, before putting his full weight into the slam this time. The noise reverberated through the room, causing others nearby to glance at him with surprised looks. He ignored them and stalked out, magnetically clamped shoes clanking loudly with each footfall.

"_I'm glad Woolf, really. It's nice to know I have a someone like you I can rely on." She kissed him, but he didn't return it. _

"_Maybe some other time, when the world isn't so complicated. But I'm not ready to retire yet." _

Another mistake, he'd decided later. Much later after he'd stormed out, leaving Milias holding one arm. Ryuuzaki and Flit had met him in the hallway, and that's when he'd learned of Flit's little science project down in India.

_You're welcome Milias,_ Woolf thought, banishing the memory.

"Commander," Tiffu said off to Woolf's right.

He turned to see her in her pilot's suit, looking somewhat confused, helmet in one hand. "Weren't we going to have a mock battle?"

"Change of plans," Woolf said drearily. "We're hitting the simulator."

Day 1, Electroencephalography

The Tests Begin

"Optic laser transmitter is set, Ryuu, you can blink now."

_They dilated my eyes and keep me in here, talking through that intercom in front of the glass. Are they afraid to come in? _

Director Klaus moves to something and his brow furrows even more.

_It's me, I am the one causing this. They said not to think, so I'm thinking._

"Ryuu," Klaus says briskly, without an ounce of emotion, "Please quiet your brain activity. We are preparing to begin the procedure."

_I can still think, why should I give it up? My arms won't move. Did they drug me or am I just afraid?_

"Too much thinking will cause more irritation," a woman with Asian features says, leaning across the desk on the other end of the glass.

"Will it hurt?" Ryuuzaki asks with uncertainty, not liking the woman's thoughts.

"You will experience some mild discomfort," Klaus replies. "Start the test."

Ryuuzaki screams, a white-hot poker appears inside his head. Then it goes away. Something flashes into his eyes, burning them, then the poker comes again. He waits patiently, trying not to think, the pain is better when he isn't thinking. His concept of time starts fading, and soon it all blurs together. Everything is black cool. Now it is white hot. Pain is a white hot poker and the cool is rest. The white hot lasts shorter than the cool rest.

"Well done, Ryuuzaki," Klaus says, putting his hands behind his back. "You may rest now."

_They're going to do three more, that's what he's telling the woman. I can hear their thoughts. How long was this time? How long is three more? I don't remember. _

Ryuuzaki looks up at the white ceiling as the lights blink on white and harsh. The poker was white. White hot, just like the lights.

_I don't like this place._


End file.
